


clean breaks

by ladyballs_and_manboobs



Series: The Casa Rametta Chronicles [1]
Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Angst, Family Issues, M/M, i'm just twisting the knife folks, post episode 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 06:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16948749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyballs_and_manboobs/pseuds/ladyballs_and_manboobs
Summary: Mamma Rametta angst or Nicotino angst? Why not both!





	clean breaks

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a song of the same title by Dashboard Confessional

Before Martino was born, when his parents were young and crazy about each other, they used to travel a lot. Brazil, Morocco, India – every year it was a new exciting place and a new souvenir plate added to the growing collection in a tall glass cabinet.

Little Martino wasn’t allowed to touch them, but sometimes his mom would take the plates out for dusting and tell fascinating stories from every trip. Most of the plates were sort of tacky, but she loved how one look at them brought happy memories back.

One night, Marti’s dad packed his suitcase and left – not storming out, but walking out, like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he has been a lodger in this house and his rent period was up.

Marti was sitting on the floor of his room, earbuds in, a position he had gotten used to in the last months full of kitchen arguments he didn’t care to hear. So he didn’t pick up on it right away.

The sound of plates shattering in methodical bursts. The muffled sobs.  

A short dash to the living room robbed him of his breath, just as the sight of her crying by the cabinet, its doors thrown open and its shelves half-empty.  _Mamma, stop, mamma, what are you doing,_ he croaked, swallowing his own tears and all but dragging her away, colorful ceramic shards biting into their socked feet.

He put her to bed and swept the kitchen floor; he took out the garbage bag and he called Gio, asking him to come over the next day. He dealt with it.

* * *

Funny how it took him several months to really understand why she did it. Why it was so unbearable for her to have remnants of happiness in a broken home.

If he concentrated right now, Martino thought, if he could  _really_ focus, he could do the same to his memories of Nico, one by one, and then he’d be able to sleep again.

He closed his eyes. Clenched his fists in the duvet.

 _Is that a terrace?_ Smash.

 _And your friends?_ Smash.

 _Amore mio._  Smash.

 _Will you marry me?_ Smash.

 _Isn’t my boyfriend handsome?_   Smash.

 _I want to sleep with you._  Smash.

 _Amore mio._  Smash. 

 _Wanna bet?:)_   Smash.

 _I miss you. For real._  Smash.

 _Don’t you want to be with me?_   Smash.

 _Amore mio._ Smash.

_Amore mio._

_Amore mio._

_Amore m-_

* * *

He doesn’t sleep.


End file.
